Light after Darkness

Legolas looked at himself in the glass and smiled sadly, wondering why his appearance and his heart were at such odds. For though he looked every inch the elven prince the dark imp was stirring again determined to deny him any enjoyment of the feast. These last few days, whilst he had ridden out with the parties of elves gathering wood and foliage, the past had seemed to sit more lightly upon him, but as he had dressed for the feast day the weight of his grief and regrets were falling upon him again. With a sigh he tried to push them aside and turn his mind to the days ahead.

He scrunitised himself once more, turning this way and that and trying to recall when last he had worn anything so elaborate.

He was dressed from head to foot in green and white, the silver trims and green and amber gems on his tunic and robe glittered as he moved. His belt was a web of shimmering brown strands tipped with yellow and white like, the branch of tree about to flower, and his boots were the deep red of spring beech sap. With a sigh he straightened his tunic and adjusted the lace on the high collar of his undershirt to make a more graceful fall. The gems stitched to the lace gave off a blue white fire as he did so, sending dancing slivers of light across the walls of the room. For a moment he watched the dancing lights as he turned his head first one way then the other wondering why quite so many gems had been deemed necessary to his dignity, they were even stitched into the tops of his long boots. Footwear that felt a little stiff after years of soft shoes or well worn riding clothes.

Oh yes he looked every inch the prince he was supposed to be. Yet the feeling of being an impostor persisted and the dark imp was lurking, waiting for the opportunity to spring up with its cries of 'unworthy' if he dropped his guard against it.

As he looked down at the two feet of velvet trailing behind him he wondered just how much splendour the stewards had conjured up for his fathers dress if this was considered necessary for their prince. But then his father was their King and therefore most accustomed to it, no realm wished their Lord to wander about dressed as if on route to the practice halls.

Legolas pulled at the sleeves of his undershirt smoothing the white silk over his forearms and wrists, smiling at the soft feel of the fabric beneath his fingers. Full formal dress was something he had not worn since the spiders came and their festivals became more sombre and hurried. In those years he had always dressed less lavishly and in such a manner as to allow him to take up his bow and head into the forest at a moments notice. For many years he had left it to his father to provide the majesty expected in honour of the days of feasting.

But for the moment the darkness had withdrawn and peace had settled across the forest. Now there was no need for such restraint. The people would be watching him closely, considering the splendour of his attire an indication of his fathers regard for him but also as a statement of the current security of the Realm. Without the advantages of the elven rings held by Galadrial and Elrond the Woodland Realm had to rely on more prosaic measures for its security, providing many of which required some measure of material wealth. Of which his dress was a proof. Armour, and metal for swords and lances, had to be paid for after all.

Legolas frowned as his thoughts veered off on an old and familiar track, and one that had deepened during his recent travels. For close on a millenia his people had been living alongside the growing darkness, fighting it when it encroached upon their safety. Century after century of it, spiders, orc packs, marauding dwarfs and landless men had all threatened them, and his father, and his people, had fought them largely alone, with little help from outside their relam, not even with arms or essential supplies that might ease their necessity. No wizard's magic had been given to shelter them and they had received little help even from their kin. There was little that Lord Elrond could have done perhaps, for the Misty Mountains seperated them and they were high and unforgiving much of the year, but even so it often seemed what efforts could have been made were not forthcoming. As they moved further north what little help they had received in the early days had withered. The Lady of the Golden Wood had kept watch upon the dark fortress but that was as far as her action had extended, and given that Lothlorien was closer to the site of the evil than his father's Halls that could be seen more as self interest than any desire to assist those who fought its spreading evil on a daily basis. With few illusions about the support he was likely to receive from others his father had steered them through the hardships by dint of his own power and his experience of the wars and fallen realms of the past, and he had known more than one of those.

Once they had crossed the Mirkwood Mountains and built their current fortified halls contact with the other elven communities had further dwindled, though the lines of communication remained open and couriers passed between them when weather permitted it. But increasingly the occupants of Lothlorien retreated from the world, for the Lady and Lord Celeborn could close their borders to all but those she knew or favoured, and their land, small though it was, was a place of beauty and peace.

For his father such a choice was not possible, however much his people might have wished for it, and those who could pay for passage down the elvish roads, by far the shortest way to the Anduin from the lands to the east, or the forest river, had to be tolerated for the tolls they paid, even if they were not always welcomed. The hard truth was that they lacked the luxury of choosing who they would associate with and trade had been vital even in the darkest days.

But not in Midwinter, this feast, and that of the Elvan New Year, were always the most joyous for then the forest that his people loved was not troubled with passing strangers.

Legolas looked at himself in the glass one last time and sighed, for all the glory of his finery something was still missing, and in many ways it was the most important thing of all. With another, and deeper, sigh he crossed the room and picked up the silver circlet from its' resting place on the table before the window and weighted it in his hand. The twisted silver strands were carved like intertwining branches with intricate chasing representing flowers and leaves along their length; it bore no gems, only his father's was so adorned, but it was a thing of beauty all the same. Heavier than it appeared too, its weight so carefully balanced that it would sit upon his brow without slip or movement however he turned his head. He smiled to himself in a sudden surge of memory, how well he recalled the days he had spent with the silversmiths making this circlet, sitting patiently as they perfected its balance and fit.

His smile died as he looked down at it, caressing the engraving with a hesitant thumb. It was a statement of his rank, and his by right of his birth, and yet he hesitated to put it on. As he looked at it he felt the weight of the events of that day in Dale fall like a leaden cloak upon his shoulders once again and though he fought to push away the memory it seemed stronger than ever, the shimmer of the silver turning red before his eyes. The sound of the festival preparations outside the window were replaced by the baying of the horn as his father recalled his splintered companies and the flickering fire from the jewels on the silk at his wrists took on the shape of the orc blood and the snow upon his father's blade as he bore it down. His stomache knotted on the memory, the anger in her voice came back to him as she hissed 'no love in you' at her king, and the image of the shock on her face as her bow was splintered. The knot grew tighter as he heard himself defend her, the cold fury in his voice at the father who had not sought the confrontation. He spun away from the glass, unable to bear the sight of himself as he recalled the look upon his father's face, a look of immeasurable loss, and the fear that his son was lost to him.

And for what? That was the question that he feared he would always ask himself, for he could no longer feel himself to be justified in his actions.

He knew now how many had died that day, both on the plain and in the city, and the number of the others they had lost as consequence of those deaths. He knew that he would always wonder if he could have saved any of them had he remained with his father's army rather than foresaking them to follow her to Ravenhill, just as he knew very well the futility of such wonderings. Yet still the memories and the doubts refused to be quiet, requiring only a little prompting to resume their torment of him. Perhaps if he had achieved something other than the death of Bolg that day it would have been easier but he had not, the dwarf Thorin had died anyway, as had the dwarf that ….she…. had gone to save, and perhaps because of her.

For a moment he wondered if she had yet realised that, and how she coped with the pain and guilt if she did.

He shook his head to push back the memory, asking the Valar for peace if only for the festival time and for the sake of his father and their people. Someone must have heard for the memory retreated, yet it left the familiar sense of being unworthy behind it.

Legolas turned the circlet in his hands again watching the light play across the burnished silver, wondering if any one would notice if he left it behind. He laughed silently at himself, of course they would and many rumours and whisperings would follow on from it. He owed it to his father to avoid such things and yet he stood undecided as the moments passed, still unable to place it upon his head.

His reverie was curtailed by a knock upon the door.
"Come." He called out glad to break the train of dark thoughts.
He had expected the steward or a maid but it was his father who stood in doorway now dressed for the feast. Legolas looked at him wide eyed, he had been barely past his majority the last time he had seen his father in full regalia for a winter feast and he had forgotten how truly majestic his parent could be. For a moment he could do little more than stare.

For once his father wore no mail coat, a sign of the day and the changed times and an indicator that none other than his own people would be at the feast, and his long tunic was silver stitched in deep green with swirling patterns of leaves and vines. The green stitching was darker than that of his son's finery and the patterns were more elaborate, and the hem of the tunic was weighted down with white, red and green gems. The upstanding collar reached to the base of the king's skull, but it left his throat bare and was fastened with an ornate pin of silver and gold twisted together like the sun shining over a field of snow. That collar was of white lace, like Legolas's own, and stitched with white gems in the same way; and the King's pale gold hair fell over it like a wave, Beneath it he wore pale blue hose, also stitched with green and silver and over them green boots, long as was his custom, their tops decorated with gold stitching and set with silver and white gems. Around his waist was a belt made of a mesh of dull silver studded with more green and blue gems, and though he wore a sword it was of a more ornamental form than was his usual choice, the scabbard sleeved in gem studded velvet. His robe was white and silver brocade, its' lining the blue and gold of the winter sun and sky, and the train stretched three feet or more behind him. In his hand he held his wooden staff, today twined with ivy into which white and red berries had been fixed.

But it was his crown that held his son's attention. It was tradition that the king himself decorated his midwinter crown before the rise of the sun on the feast day, and in the past Legolas had seen it as an indictor of his parent's assessment of the year soon to pass. This year there was no wormwood, no blackthorn and no ivy, instead the dark wood of winter was wrapped in deep and glossy green fir and holly leaves and trimmed with red and white berries and small winter flowers. But one thing was the same as ever, for each leaf and berry was touched with snow, and from the points of the circlet icicles hung in shining shards.

Legolas was immediately transported back in time, he had never known how his father managed it and as an elfling he had so much wanted to wear icicles upon his own head, and had made many attempts to make such a crown for himself. Each attempt had ended with a scolding as the ice dripped cold and wet upon his festival finery. One year, overcome by the frustration, he had waited until his father had been in deep conversation with a member of the elder council and had snatched the crown from his head running off with it down the line of feasting people before he could be caught, setting upon his own head and holding it in place with a small cold hand. How great had been his disappointment when the ice began to melt, and when his father had appeared and, catching him up in strong arms, had removed the dripping crown and replaced it on his own head with a laugh. How great had been his son's awe when the ice reformed and held its nature once he did.

Thranduil cast Legolas a quizzical look.
"Something is amiss?" The king asked.
"No, not at all. You look suitably magnificent."
His father shrugged with a small smile.
"It is part of wearing the crown, and certainly not the most onerous part."
Legolas smiled back and asked on impulse.
"How do you keep the snow and ice in place and prevent it from melting? I have always wondered."
The question earned him another smile, this one openly sly.
"Ah, a king's secret. One day I may share it with you, but not today."
Legolas smiled.
"Since I have no ambition to wear your crown I can wait."
Something flashed though his father's eyes but was gone so quickly Legolas was not sure he had not imagined it, and his father was smiling as he reached out to catch Legolas's arm in a warm, grip.
"Yet I recall an elfling who wanted to wear it very much indeed. But there are other secrets I would share first, however today is not the time for any of them, today is for celebrating the turning of the darkest part of the year towards the light, and the hope that the world will match the year in that turning."
Legolas returned the smile and turned his hand to grip his fathers arm.
"Let us hope that it does. The darkness has plagued us long enough."

A hint of sadness entered the king's expression and his voice held a sigh in its depths.
"Indeed it has, and has cost us much. Yet the price could have been higher still and we have weathered all the storms, so let us all take this time to rest and remind ourselves of the strength of our love of the forest and our kinship."
When his son said nothing but just gave him a small smile he tightened the grip on the arm he still held.
"Do not berate yourself today Legolas, enjoy the feast. Be joyful for our people's sake if you cannot manage it for your own; do not let them think you are sad for your return. I know you have not yet made peace with yourself, and I know there are those that still look at you with uncertainty, perhaps a few with hostility, but the difficulties can be over come. Will be overcome in time. Trust will be won even from those who trust least."
"You have no doubt of that?"
"None at all; I, too, have known what it is to lose faith in life, in myself, but it can be survived and put behind you in time. You are my son and as I found my way through the darkness so will you."

With that he reached out and took the circlet from his son's hand and placed it upon his head.
"For them Legolas, if not for yourself, for they played no part in your hurts and should not be expected to share in the price of your choices. The darkness has not been defeated and we may need all our trust in ourselves and each other sooner than it may now seem. Let them find peace and joy while they may and do not burden them with doubts that are not of their making."

Legolas raised his hand to grasp his father's as it adjusted the circlet upon his head.
"Is that the price of a crown then? To always be strong? To always be certain?"
Thranduil looked at him seriously.
"Yes, some part of it. For if I am not strong and certain, I who know much more than they by virtue of being King, how can they trust in me? You know this to be true between soldiers and their captains, how much more is it so between the people and their King? Neither I, nor you as my son, can allow our personal grief or fears to shape our wider actions."
He saw the look on his son's face and smiled softly.
"Though we may make mistakes Legolas, and all do, we must recover from them as quickly as we can and keep them as far as possible to the knowledge of those who know us well enough to understand the regret."

Another knock at the door broke the mood of the moment and Legolas released his grip on his father's hand as he called to the new comer to enter. The King's equerry stuck his head around the door, a harassed look upon his face that smoothed as he saw both King and Prince in the same place.
"My Lords, the day progresses and your attendance is required. The fires are lit and soon the tribes of elfling's will be here to deck the feast tables, many are already here and others too, not only the proud parents of the tribes of little ones either. The people will be looking for your presence soon."
He cast a considering looks over the pair and nodded in apparent approval.
"Might I suggest the Prince makes his appearance first, perhaps a cup of wine or two with the elders of some of the outlying communities and a little admiration of their elflings costume and manners would be a good start."

He stood back and held the door wide. King and Prince exchanged slightly rueful looks and made their way to join him.

XXX

The day of midwinter was the first day of feasting, the full feast lasting until the next phase of the moon, but for many it was the only day they would give themselves entirely to pleasure. By the evening of the second day some of the normal duties had to be resumed, for children had to be washed and fed, animals needed to be tended to, and food and medicines had to be prepared. But that first day was a day of rest and pleasure for all. Once the great fires were lit before the Halls and the tables laid around them were piled with bread and cakes and with jugs of wine and spiced berry juices. Only then did the formalities of the day begin.

Legolas had done his duty as had been suggested, wandering through the kin groups settled around the fires and the smaller ones set further out into the woods. Many of these elves he had known from the day of his birth and they welcomed him as a loved and valued lord, telling him of their joys and sorrows of the past few years, introducing him to those newly entered maturity and asking him of the things he had seen during his travels. It was like being taken back in time, falling into a sparking summer river, whose sun warned waters swept him back to the days before the coming of Throin Oakenshield and the harm that had followed from that. In these eyes he saw no questions, no doubts only interest and kindliness and respect. He heard his father's words in his ears as he talked,
'do not burden them with doubts that are not of their making' and he heeded it, his stories of his travels were all of the length of the road and contrariness of the weather, of strange animals and birds and unusual food and drink, of mountains capped in sunlight and great lords in sturdy, well mannered cities. He never claimed he was sent as his father's emissary but if most took that message away he did not correct it. Where a dance sprang up he joined in whirling many a village girl shy in her new found majority through a reel, or showing a village elfling a better way to hold his new bow.

In the quiet moments he found himself considering these people who called him Prince, for they were drawn from many tribes. Few of the Elf Lords who had come over the mountains from the west remained in the world now; many had fallen in the last alliance and most of the remaining had left for the ships. Now more than three thousand years into the third age only one Elvenking remained, his father, and with each passing season more of the remaining elves of the lands to the east of the Misty Mountains placed themselves within the lordship of the King of Mirkwood. For the Sylvan elves and their valley and mountain kin the choice was stark, either return to the lordless and scattered state they had known before the coming of the Sindar Elf Lords or look to the Elvenking for unity. Yet their loyalty was as fierce and unswerving as those who had first taken Oropher for their King. A loyalty they found returned a hundred fold, for Thranduil understood loyalty, his line was drawn from those who halted their journey west in the search for their lost lord, whose loyalty to that lord kept them from following the Noldar to Valinor as they had wished to do. No, his father's line had never failed any test of friendship or loyalty, even in the face of the wrath of the cursed sons of Feanor, and he would never fail these elves who put themselves within his dominion. No more then would his son.

As he stood there beneath the winter trees with the light of the fires flickering across the snow, he promised himself that his loyalty would be no less, and that whatever else he might be in his life he would always be a Wood Elf in some part of his heart.

The day passed in uninterrupted peace and joy, this year there was no horn, no call to arms against an orc pack or spiders. Thranduil appeared as the sun strengthened and led the procession through the wood to the clearing of the great oak and the shrines of Eru and Varda where they knelt in contemplation before the King read out the thanks of the people for the resting forest, for its gifts to them, and their prayers for the return of spring and the renewal of all life. Then they fanned out amongst the trees and decked them with ribbons as they sang songs of the days of bliss beneath the stars while the children decorated the shrine itself with the fruits of winter. As they did so their King sat in silent meditation before the shrine, his gaze lost somewhere in the circles of world past or future, and what he did or did not see he never shared with any, not even his son.

That concluded they returned to the Elvenking's halls and gathered around the fires, newly stocked with feast boughs, to eat roasted nuts and fruits and share gifts and greetings. When that was finished Thranduil did his duty at the kissing bough and blessed the couples coming forward to declare their intent to marry, and in more than one case declare themselves already married.

As Legolas watched the couples stand before the king it occurred to him that his father was not the only one amongst their people who believed that the time of their peace would be short lived, and that many a babe would be close to entering the world at the time of the next midwinter feast. As he saw the joy in the faces of those preparing to found new families he wondered if there would ever come a feast time when he would stand before his father to announce his pledge to a wife as yet unseen and unknown That he had made one terrible mistake in matters of love was something else that also weighted upon him, for he feared making such an error again. Elves were supposed to know when they had met their one, how then had he been so wrong? But that was something else not for this day and he pushed that thought back under the cloak of forgetting, for the moment at least.

As the noontime was passed he moved again through the gathered tribes of woodland elves, greeting those he had not seen since his return and hearing the news of the communities further from his father's halls. Time slipped passed with him barely giving a thought to the source of his absence and something close to peace settled upon him.

Thranduil watched closely whenever Legolas came within his sight, worried that something might be said that would send his son back into the pit of doubt and despair. But even those who the king knew to be most disapproving of the Prince's conduct were minding both their tongues and their looks, and if they avoided him it was not in any way that could be noted. So the remainder of day light passed peacefully, if not quietly, and both King and Prince managed more enjoyment than either would have expected when winter first began.

Night came swiftly and the heavens smiled upon them, for no cloud obscured their beloved stars which shone cold and white above them. For a while the fires were allowed to die down as the assembled company gathered in their family groups to remember those now passed to the west or to Mandros and to offer up their prayers that someday they would be reunited beneath these stars.

As evening passed into darker night lanterns were lit in the trees and new fires were conjured in the aisles and glades beneath the trees. Long tables were brought out which were soon laid with platters of all kinds, flagons of wine and water and warm spiced cordials.

Beneath the tallest beech, a tree that dated to before the coming of the Sindar lords to the Greenwood, his father's table was set. As the elves of the wood settled themselves Legolas crossed to his father table and looked around him, there was no sign of the king but then he probably wouldn't appear until all others were settled. He wondered about going in search of him but then decided not to, for no doubt he was about some official, but probably tedious, business even on this day.

Instead he lingered just beyond the light of the lamps listening to the chatter of the mass of elves, as raucous in their way as the flocks of rooks at sunset. His eyes wandered over the table before him and he smiled as he saw that the tall wine cups they generally used were joined by much smaller cups ,knowing what it meant. The King truly intended this day to be a celebration for these cups were meant only for his favourite vintage, a heady drink that had to be brought many miles on perilous roads and rivers, and that was only ever served at the King's table, though Galion had been known to sample more than a drop of it if the chance presented itself.

His smile died and he pushed the wine cup away from the place that had been laid for him as he recalled that Galion and the keeper of the keys had been under the influence of this very wine the day the dwarves escaped from them, with such terrible consequences for all. For a moment the chatter and the lamps faded and he was back in time beside a river telling her that his father would forgive and that she could return home, but she had not returned and such evil had flowed from that refusal. He shook his head at his own thoughts refusing to let them go any further and vowing once again that he would not think of it. He looked back down at the table and with a slight smile he pulled the cup back into its place beside his plate, how foolish to blame the wine or even the two who drank it, for Throin's greed and recklessness, or for her infatuation.

"Legolas?" The word was a question.
He looked up and realised that the noise of the company had quietened and that his father had arrived and was standing beside him, and though he was smiling slightly there was the all too familiar look of concern in his eyes. Legolas smiled back bringing his hand to his heart in a gesture of love and welcome, the gesture was returned but the anxious look did not fade.
"Is anything amiss? "The king asked quietly.
Legolas let his smile widen and forced a note of ease into his voice.
"Nothing at all, I was merely remembering Galion's love of Dorwinnion and wondering how much he will manage to sink this night. Who have you charged with getting him safely to his bed?"
The anxious look faded and Thranduil shook his head with a slightly malicious smile.
"No one, perhaps if he spends a winters' night under a table it will teach him to be more circumspect."
"Has it ever done so before?" Legolas asked with a laugh.
His father shook his head with a rueful look.
"Not noticeably, but it at least allows me the illusion that I am trying to improve his conduct."

With that he turned to face the throng of elves, all now standing and looking towards him, and spreading his arms out he bowed to them and wished them the joy of the feast His voice seemed to carry out across the forest without him making any effort, his words carrying to even the most far flung table. There was a swirl of green and brown and a star lit flash of festival gemstones as they all they returned the gesture with a far deeper bow. Then, as their king sat, followed by his son and the Elf Lords also seated at his table, the assembled company sank back onto their seats and began to fill their cups and plates.

The stars continued to burn bright above them as the night wore on and the sound of the rising wind in the bare branches was joined by harp and lute as the musicians began their rounds. A small group of the most able established themselves not far from the Kings table and made no move to circulate. Legolas caught his father looking at them more than once with a thoughtful look, which seemed odd to him for there was nothing to complain of in their skill. Then he forgot the matter and settled down to enjoy the food and wine, any remaining unease he might have felt soothed away by their music.

The fires had burned lower and the moon was high when Thranduil gestured for one of the musicians to approach, she came willingly enough but with a look of faint uncertainty on her face. Legolas noted this realising that whatever was in his fathers mind it had not been planned. As she came to stand beside him he smiled at her reassuringly complimenting her on her playing. She returned the smile the pleasure shining in her eyes and when he gestured towards the small hand harp she held she gave it to him readily. For a moment he seemed undecided and then he smiled at her again and ran his finger over the strings. She looked at him in confusion and his smile widened and he gestured to one his guard to find her a seat. When she was settled somewhat uneasily beside him, he ran his fingers over the strings again but this time the resulting sound was clearly a melody. The musician looked at him in surprise and as he tilted his head in a silent question she nodded and sat back more comfortably in the chair.

Legolas had forgotten how accomplished a musician his father was for he had rarely heard him play since the darkness had begun its assault upon the forest, but he must have played somewhere for it was soon clear he was in no way unpractised. Unpractised fingers could not have drawn such haunting sound from the strings of this small harp, and haunting it was indeed. It took him a while to recall the melody but when he did it brought a smile of true joy to his face for this very song was the one his father had always had played to him to help him sleep after a nightmare. As the last notes melted away into the darkness his father looked at him enquiringly and he nodded, silently assuring his parent that he remembered.

But the silence was not allowed to stretch and as those notes failed so they were replaced by others as his father moved on to other songs, each of them old and drawn from the days in the west before the Sindar came east into the Greenwood. Caught up in the music he either did not notice, or did not care, that the elves around him had fallen silent and that the musicians closest had set down their instruments. Legolas watched him closely seeing the slight sadness that always came when he played the music of the days of Doriath. Then suddenly, as if recollecting the present, he changed the song, this time the notes spreading out into the trees were a Sylvan lullaby telling of the days before the sun and moon, before the coming or the darkness and its wars, when they wandered beneath the stars in peace and joy. Thranduil looked towards the musician beside him and inclined his head as if in question. With a smile she nodded and began to sing her voice pure and sweet and yet powerful, matching to the song of the harp as the sound of the river duets with the rustling of the summer trees.

No more uncertainty existed in the singer mind and as the king changed the tune she followed him, this time an anthem to the woods and the life they lived within it, and now to Legolas's surprise his father voice joined that of the singer, it had been a long time since he had heard his father sing and just as he had forgotten how well his father could play so he had also forgotten how beautiful his voice was. The musician smiled in pleasure as the deep, rich notes of his father's voice mingled with her own and she abandoned any hesitation she might have earlier felt and joined him wholeheartedly, the joy of the duet shining in her eyes. Legolas leant forward to watch his father face, his expression as softened as his son had ever seen it, the admiration of the skill of his singing partner openly shown in his smile and his willingness to follow where she led when a new variation on the melody occurred to her.

Then suddenly his father eyes were on him, and though the tone of his voice was unchanged there was a quizzical look in his eyes that it took his son a moment or two to interpret. When he did his own eyes widened and he felt a constriction in his throat as panic gripped him, but the blue eyes watching him were steady and their intention was clear enough. With a slight shrug he drew a deep breathe and joined his father and the minstrel in the song. His voice was not the equal of his fathers but he knew it was sufficient for the songs that would be required and as the musician smiled at him and the approval shone in his father look he relaxed allowing himself to enjoy the song, to remember with pleasure the days when he had sung this before. Then the song changed again, this time to a lament for those lost, to a prayer of thanks for their lives and sacrifices, a song the king had brought from the west but adopted by the woodland elves on the death of his father. There was a sheen of tears in the kings eyes as he sang for he had sung this song at the memorial service for his own father, and for the many they had lost in the battles of the Last was not surprised when those of his fathers guard seated around them joined in and as the lament wound towards its close Legolas realised that most of the adult elves had joined them in the song.

But the mournful mood was not sustained and as the last notes of that ode faded his father began a more cheerful ditty of forest life, and within one chorus the voices of the massed company of elves had overtaken the voices of the king and his companions. Then Thranduil bowed his head towards the minstrel and handed the harp back to her. She bowed deeply in return, the joy in her eyes still shining like the stars themselves.

As she made to stand he reached out and put a hand upon her arm, bidding her to sit where she was for a while; when she did he reached out and poured her a glass of his favourite wine. As she sipped it he reached forward and drew some of the greenery and berries that decorated the table from their ribbons and with a few deft flicks of his fingers he fashioned them into a circlet. Then he reached up and drew a strand of white berries from his crown and wove it into the green before leaning forward and placing the result upon the minstrels head with a smile.

Legolas watched her walk away to rejoin her group with pleasure, for she shone as brightly as the moon, and he wondered how many feast days would equal this one for her.

He turned his attention back towards his wine but he caught his father's eye upon him again, the expression calm and happy, and returned the look with a smile; he knew that the shadow had not truly left him but for the moment that did not matter, for tonight the joy in his heart was real.